Addiction
by koneko zero
Summary: They both have their poisons, it's just that Matt's is easier to mess with. Matt/Mello, oneshot.


**Title:** Addiction

**Genre:** Humour / Romance / Drama (?)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Death Note, I simply love it too much.

**Warnings:** Matt is Matt, so the swearing is gratuitous. Also, there is a tiny hint of kink.

This piece can be seen as AU, or it can be seen as it just being a convenient moment.

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**ADDICTION**

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Fourteen hours.

_**Fourteen**_ hours.

Matt was about ready to beat the shit out of the 10 year old girl in front of him just so that he could get off this fucking plane a bit fucking faster, just so that he could get the fuck outside and finally (_finally!_) have a goddamn fucking _smoke_.

Risk Mello's wrath, or leave him to get the bags and get that sweet fix a teensy bit sooner?

He didn't even hesitate, breaking into a slight jog when he saw the doors. Undignified? Yes. Beneath him? Yes. Totally fucking necessary? _Hell yes._ He'd had everything with him - the patches, the lozenges, that pitiful bit of plastic to give his fingers something to grip… Even when he'd used all three together the cravings hadn't gone away. Shit, when even screwing around on the PSP and screwing around with Mello in the toilets (_in full hearing range of the stuffy-looking harpy and her 3 oppressed children_, he might add) didn't help, nothing would.

Seriously, there wasn't much other than a nuclear holocaust or having his mainframe remote-hacked that could distract him from Mello. Distraction was pretty much impossible to achieve when faced with Mello, enclosed spaces and (_beautiful, abso-fucking-lutely beautiful_) bare skin. It was worrying.

_Just a little farther._

The packet of cigarettes was out of his pocket the moment his big toe could be considered out of the building.

_Stupid fucking Mello._

His hands – so still when he was facing armed bodyguards and suspicious Mafioso – were trembling, making him scrabble for a moment to get the box open.

_Stupid fucking Mello and his stupid fucking chocolate… Yes, I said, "Wherever you want to go," but Bruges? Freaking Bruges? Chocolate capital of the world, yeah, but a 14 hour flight away in a cramped tin can with too many people --_

Cigarette between his lips and life is suddenly looking up, because he can taste the nicotine already and _damn_ if the sky's not a slightly brighter blue.

_Bastard knows I hate public freakin' transport. Bastard asked anyway 'cause he knew I wouldn't say no after that third round --_

Lighter –

No lighter.

_The fuck?_

No spare lighter. No emergency lighter.

_Shit. Shitshitshitshitshiiiiit._

Matt's teeth ground down on the end of the cigarette. He'd had them with him, he always had them with him, and he'd even checked on the plane so why the _FUCK_—

_Mello._

Mello and his sweet, soft touches. He'd thought it was just gratitude, a show of appreciation for Matt sacrificing his sanity for _FOURTEEN FUCKING HOURS _just to make the demon bastard happy. That those gentle caresses that replaced the usual fierce, rough, _bruising_ grips were meant as a "thank you," because God, Kira and Mario knew the man could never say the words himself.

No. The girly prick had nicked all his fucking lighters, and disguised the movements as him trying to fucking _help_.

And _**goddamn**_ the blonde bastard, but he could _feel_ that vindictive smirk burning against the back of his neck, even from across the arrivals lounge and through the double-glazed doors.

_Do. Not. Turn. Around._

The ground tobacco was getting caught between his teeth – he could feel the fragments against his gums, and he was pretty damn certain he was going to inhale the filter he was breathing so hard. His hands were still shaking. He'd just sat through a 14-hour flight surrounded by noisy strangers. He hadn't had a smoke in almost another full hour on top of that.

He could hear Mello walking (_strutting_) up behind him, with his softly creaking leathers and his not-quite-quiet-enough sniggers.

If Matt was a little less of a stubborn git and Mello was a little less of a malicious dick, he would've just swallowed his pride for a moment and asked for a lighter.

But that would mean that Matt surrendered, and that would mean that Mello had one over on him, and _that_ would result in one of Mello's more, uhh, _extreme_ control fantasies when they got to the hotel. Because, in all honesty, the beautiful scar-face was just as much of an addict as Matt, but his poison was way more potent than a quick hit of nicotine.

Instead, he slapped a nicotine patch on each wrist and started towards the sickeningly bright sign of the car hire company, and – not for the first time – wondered exactly _what the fuck_ had possessed him to start smoking anyway. He _knew_ he had an obsessive personality as it was, so why in the holy name of CAPCOM had he decided to start on addictive habits? _Especially_ when he knew that the little blonde prick could use it against him later?

Something told him that, more than anything, this sort of thing (_more than the grades, more than the motivation, more than the street-smarts, where he stood a chance of competing_) was why he would always, _always_ be behind the Wonder Duo.

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Thank you for reading! If you have time, please review and let me know what you thought. No flames please, but constructive criticism is as welcome as praise.


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